


the dress

by champagneboyband



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: ??? - Freeform, Canon Compliant, Fluff, Japan, M/M, Morning Sex, THE DRESS, it's cute tho so, it's white and gold, otra, this is so dumb i can't believe i wrote this, uMMMmm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-27
Updated: 2015-02-27
Packaged: 2018-03-15 11:00:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3444626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/champagneboyband/pseuds/champagneboyband
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Harry's hair is a riot of wild curls around his head, but where Louis would normally be tugging on his ringlets and begging for attention, his mind is preoccupied by the fact that there is literally no possible way that this dress is anything but blue and black.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	the dress

**Author's Note:**

> lmao i can't believe i wrote fic about the dress
> 
> im on tumblr at [champagneboyband](http://champagneboyband.tumblr.com)! :)

“It's blue and black, Harold, I don't understand how you're not seeing this,” Louis says frustratedly, shoving his mobile in Harry's face, almost just to be petulant at this point, because honestly.

Harry squints at the glare of the phone screen, moving his head back on the pillow to get a better look at it. He studies the picture for a long moment, face scrunched up and eyes still puffy with sleep, confused expression making him look ridiculously endearing in the morning light spilling in through the hotel room window. His hair is a riot of wild curls around his head, but where Louis would normally be tugging on the ringlets and begging for attention, his mind is preoccupied by the fact that there is literally no possible way that this dress is anything but blue and black.

“You're having me on, right?” Harry asks after a long moment, raising an eyebrow and glancing up at Louis. “That's what this is? You're just having me on?”

Louis makes a cut-off sound of annoyance in the back of his throat and turns his phone around, tapping the screen impatiently where it's gone dark. “You're honestly telling me this dress isn't blue and black to you,” he deadpans. “Seriously.”

“No, it's white and gold, Lou, I don't know what you want me to say,” Harry says. He rolls away, stretching his arms over his head and letting his back crack in a long line, spine arching, and Louis can feel toes curling against his calf. “Now will you please put the phone down and get over here? We only have like four hours until we have to be at the stadium, and I don't want to waste it arguing over some stupid dress.”

Louis hums noncommittally, tapping away at his phone, still pointedly laying on his own side of the bed, thank you very much.

“I don't know if I can be with someone who doesn't see the world the same way I do,” he says loftily. “It just wouldn't be right.”

“But Lou, think of the possibilities,” Harry says immediately, and Louis can hear the grin in his voice without even looking up. The bed shifts next to him, and Louis' suddenly spitting curls as Harry rolls into his side, big hands splayed on either side of his hips. “We could teach our children to paint with _all_ the colours of the wind.”

Louis puts his phone down at that and levels Harry with a flat look, the corners of his mouth drawn down as he tries his best to fight back his smile.

“Did you honestly just make a Pocahontas reference?” he asks, arching an eyebrow in what he hopes is a very judgemental and not at all hopelessly fond expression. “Now I _definitely_ want a divorce.”

Harry just grins down at him, all crater dimples and wild hair and those goddamn massive green eyes that Louis' been a complete sucker for since they were teenagers. He skims his fingers up Louis' sides slowly, making him shiver and break, giggling under his breath with ticklish nerves and squirming away. Harry follows him until they slot together, sleep-warm skin held close and familiar hips pressed together under the covers, moving with the sort of ease that only comes when you know another person's body as well as you know your own. He bows his head to nuzzle his face into Louis' neck, and Louis lets out a breathy sigh – which, by the way, was meant to sound much more annoyed and long-suffering – as he reaches up to gather Harry's hair into a bun to keep it from tickling his nose.

“Are you quite sure about that?” Harry asks, words muffled in his neck. He presses a closed-mouth kiss behind Louis' ear, and Louis' stomach jumps at the feeling of hot breath ghosting over his skin. “Think of the children, Lewis.”

Louis smooths his hands up Harry's broad back, fingers pressing into the divots of his spine and pausing to feel the way the muscles jump under his skin as Harry pushes Louis' knees apart with one of his own. Louis lets out a small whimper – he'll deny it if ever asked – and pushes his hips up, bracing his feet on the mattress and letting Harry settle down between his legs.

“That's twice now you've brought up the children,” Louis says, fighting to keep his voice even as Harry slides in easily where Louis' still all loose and open from the night before. “Are you trying to tell me something?”

But Harry just lifts his head so he can smirk down at him, dragging Louis into a better position on the bed so he can pull one of his legs up and kiss the inside of his knee as he moves his hips in a tight circle, keeping himself buried deep. Louis reaches up to trace the shape of his birds, toes curling against Harry's back and smiling to himself as he pushes his fingers into the bruised lovebite he'd left between them last night.

“What's so funny?” Harry asks quietly.

His eyes are glowing green in the Tokyo morning sun, and they can hear the rush of the massive city going by outside their window, and somewhere down the hall there's a television pumping out the cartoon noise of some Japanese morning show, and it's all so ridiculous that Louis just throws his head back on the pillow, laugh going raspy around his moan as Harry hits a spot deep inside him.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Louis says, voice all pitchy and airy, and he can't stop laughing. “The bruise is white and gold.”


End file.
